


wise little smile that spoke so safely.

by nyabatos



Series: a thousand lifetimes [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is Not Okay, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fluff and Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), byleth is getting there, claude is in love, dimitri is also in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25052392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyabatos/pseuds/nyabatos
Summary: hands clutched at the hem of his cloak, hands so deathly cold.they move, up and up, until they tighten around his throat, choking the flames of anger inside him, depriving him of oxygen.there is no escape.but that did not mean he would not go down fighting.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: a thousand lifetimes [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707730
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	wise little smile that spoke so safely.

**Author's Note:**

> highly recommended song to listen to while reading this: the other side of paradise by glass animals.

The next morning, Claude packed up on a borrowed wyvern heading for Fódlan’s Throat. 

The early sunlight pierced through the cloud of mist blanketing them, morning dew sticking to their clothes, damp. It was just the two of them in the field, everyone else had given them some privacy at Byleth’s request. The wyvern belonged to Seteth, who had turned the bull over with a solemn nod and a threat to Claude’s life if something bad happened to his precious wyvern. Byleth had taken some money they had from the convoy and shoved the pouch into his hand despite his protests. 

“Teach,” he said, hesitant, “I can’t take their gold. Their war funds aren't that impressive, y’know.”

She shrugged. “It’s my cut for a new sword. Take it; I don’t need the sword anyways.”

His brows furrowed. “You need a weapon.” 

“I got _this_.”

The Sword of the Creator glowed at her hip like a reminder, a warning. He eyed the weapon; for the terrifying amount of power it wields it was too fragile. “You can’t go out there with a broken sword, Teach. Here.” Claude unclasped the silver sword by his side, newly given to him by a grumpy Felix, and offered her the handle. “Take this, I’m not that good with swords and you already know all I really need is my bow.” 

His professor looked skeptical, but she took it just to shut him up. A smug grin bloomed on his face and he turned back to the wyvern vying for his attention. 

“I have to go now,” he said, making sure all the straps on the saddle were secured. “They need me.”

“They do.”

Byleth placed a hand on his shoulder, a tender moment between them. “Be careful out there,” she said. Her fingers tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, lingering at the soft curve of his cheek. Claude leaned into her touch, too intimate to be between a student and his teacher yet not close enough to be something else. The calloused pads of her fingertips and her battle hardened palms were the roughest thing about her, and as she brushed her touch against his ear he found the spell broken, and his tongue worked again. 

He caught her wrist, gentle. “Hey, Teach?”

A hum. 

“Here.”

Claude reached up and took off his earring. The one thing that had managed to remain with him for all these years, a gift from his Fódlan-born mother given to him on Almyran soil. The piece of jewelry itself was something his mother had brought with her on her escape, the gold etched with fine details of the Crest of Riegan, tiny crescent moons carefully carved into the smooth, glittering surface. 

Tiana had passed it to the person she loved most, her son. And now, as tradition dictates, Claude closed the golden clasp and slid the earring on one of Byleth’s fingers, still stretched towards him. 

And it fit perfectly. 

“Fate, huh?” He laughed, more emotional than he let on. “It’s not exactly a ring but it’s the only thing I have to give you that isn’t borrowed.” 

“A promise,” she said with a smile. 

Because that’s exactly what it was. A promise to come back, to return safely, a binding object for an even more binding emotion. He carried with him a part of her and now she will, too. 

Overjoyed, and absolutely certain he was playing with fire but couldn’t find it in himself to care, Claude tugged her into his embrace and softly, cautiously, brushed his lips against hers. 

_She tastes like the future_ , was his first thought. Shocking static and enveloping fervor and the rushing current of unimaginable divinity. It was like drinking an entire ocean.

His second thought went something along the lines of _holy shit I just kissed my professor_. 

But before he could fret Byleth returned his kiss with overwhelming familiarity, and the feeling of coming home, of embracing the person you love most sparked through his veins and he was sure his heart skipped a beat or five. 

Their kiss remained chaste, nothing more than a brush of lips and yet he found himself craving for more. But eyes were watching; they always were, and so with a pang of regret he let her go when she parted. 

_I love you_ , he almost said, but the fact of the matter is that Claude von Riegan, as eloquent and devious as he was, found his tongue tied every time he burned in her radiance. 

“I’ll miss you,” he said instead, cursing himself. The fond look in her teal eyes made him laugh at his own ridiculousness, a notion which she joined. 

“Take care,” she told him and squeezed his hand, sending him off with another smile. She gave them out like candy, these days. “Write to me?”

“Of course.”

And with that, he mounted his wyvern who hissed and tried to snap at his ankle, and took off into the sunrise. 

In the cooling shadow of the monastery, one single blue eye watched their exchange, fists clenched. 

* * *

Dimitri knew how good he got it, growing up.

He had been given everything. A loving family, caring friends, his future as king served up to him in a silver platter. The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus had rejoiced the day he was born, people pouring into the streets to celebrate the birth of their beloved little prince. His father, the wise and revered king that he was, had held him in his arms with boisterous laughter, the entire kingdom’s bundle of joy. Dimitri didn’t remember much, couldn’t; he imagined others would not remember their earliest moments either, but he was left feeling warm at the memory.

Unfortunately, that meant the image of his mother had long faded from his mind. 

The prince grew up with his father, grieving for the loss of his wife but still loving his son with all of his heart, and to Dimitri this little family of theirs was enough. By his side were Sylvain, Felix and Ingrid, all from a young age, all from esteemed families. They visited him in the palace every weekend, and they witnessed him growing and learning how to control the overwhelming power of his own Crest. They were there for him. 

Life had passed like that peacefully for a few years, until Edelgard had drifted into his life like a shadow or an afterthought. Before her came his stepmother, a nurturing, benevolent woman who taught him how to love and feel. Two more people in his life who held meaning. 

But the sense of peace was as fragile as a pegasus’ wings, and just like that, the Tragedy of Duscur struck like lightning at sea, sudden and seemingly inevitable. 

In one day, he had lost everything.

His friends were the only ones tethering him to reality. His mind short circuited, burning, and the first night back at Castle Blaiddyd again he heard the voices screaming in his ears even with Felix by his side. Sylvain and Ingrid had left, reluctantly, but the young Fraldarius refused to. And Dimitri didn’t cry; the voices told him not to, but the smell of burnt flesh left a permanent stench at the back of his tongue and he vomited in the middle of the night, waking up his friend who had tears in his eyes.

“Dima,” Felix had said, grief for his brother still fresh in his shaky voice like a newly cut wound but determined to comfort his prince, his friend, his only real family left, “It’s going to be okay. I’m here.”

So that night Dimitri had held onto his childhood friend like a lifeline, sleeplessly staring at the blank ceiling above his head while flames flickered at the edge of his vision.

His uncle had stepped up to be the Lord Regent. Dimitri had no qualms about it; he himself was too young to govern a country, and he wasn’t sure he would ever be fit to be as great of a king as his father was. He clung onto what was left of his little family for solace; his friends, the staff in his castle, the goddess he prayed to every night. 

Oh, Sothis. She whispered to him in his restless fits in the night, telling him tales of Duscur, a fair land with even fairer people, and she opened his eyes. He had never believed that the Duscur people murdered his family—it just didn’t add up—but a child prince could do nothing but watch helplessly as his kingdom waged war against the peninsula, a blood soaked massacre of men, women and children. He had begged to come along, to try and stop any meaningless slaughter, but the only person he had managed to save was a boy who went by the name of Dedue.

The boy was stoic, and fiercely loyal. His company soothed the ache in Dimitri’s mind, kept the flurry of rage under control.

But the sight of killing fueled the shadows in his head. The voices grew more and more insistent, more and more savage, demanding sacrifice in blood. Dimitri struggled to push it away, to bargain with the ghosts. If they wanted blood he could give them his own; he had sworn to them with a dagger in his hand and his flesh presented to his dead loved ones, but they had merely sneered at him. No, it has to be _them_ , the ones responsible for the slaughter. Nothing else will suffice. 

He had dropped the knife, sobbing, aching for relief. 

And so two years later, at the tender age of fifteen, Dimitri spilled his first drop of foreign blood with unrestrained joy. 

Felix had never looked at him the same since. 

_Boar_ , he had hissed, shock and hatred evident in his eyes but it was the hint of fear that made the prince despair, and the voices in Dimitri’s head had just told him that he’s right, he’s _right_. Gone was the gentle care his old friend used to give him, gone was the look of awe, of affection, fiercely protective. There was nothing but disgust now. 

And maybe, Dimitri thought, he deserved it. 

The days passed without comfort, until he finally decided to enroll in the Officer’s Academy. Rumors had it that the Imperial Princess was going to attend this year, and the idea of seeing Edelgard again, of finding that one missing piece of his life back when everything was alright motivated him to go. He had thought, on long nights staying up strategizing with Dedue, that perhaps being in a place of such importance like Garreg Mach was his best bet of finding out something about the Tragedy of Duscur and clearing their name. 

And so, when the snow started melting from the icy streets of Fhirdiad, Dimitri packed his things and along with Dedue, ventured into the heart of Fódlan. 

His year there had been mystery after mystery. As soon as he arrived and was given command of the Blue Lions house—a tradition, they said, he had wandered around the new environment to talk to people. Garreg Mach was pleasantly warm, gentle sunlight making his skin tingle in a different way than the cutting chill of Faerghus, and he had enjoyed the extra hours of daylight they got. Students started trickling in; he had come a bit earlier than expected, after all, and to his pleasant surprise half of his house were his childhood friends. Sylvain and Ingrid were excited to be able to spend ample time with him without needing to be proper nobles, while Felix was less enthused. Dimitri supposed he couldn’t blame him; the sting of his rejection had had several years to sink in, after all. The new additions to his House, his little family, was more than welcomed. Annette and Mercedes constantly fretted over him, while Ashe was more hesitant to trust at first. Of course, Dimitri always had his arms open wide to welcome them, whether or not they want it. 

People from other houses proved to be interesting as well. He vaguely remembered having been introduced to Hilda of the Goneril house; her brother was the Alliance’s most celebrated general after all. His father had taken him once on a diplomatic trip to Fódlan’s Locket, and the sight of an energetic little girl with pink hair in pigtails had been difficult to forget. She seemed to remember him as well, striking up easy conversation to catch up on their respective lives ever since they parted. Felix had accompanied Dimitri on the trip, and he’s sure the swordsman remembered Hilda, but his friend stubbornly refused to admit it.

Edelgard’s appearance was shocking to him. Her hair had turned into a silvery white, so different from its previous warm brown color that he had to do a double take to make sure that was her. But yes, those lilac eyes were the same ones that stared into his soul when she taught him how to dance all those years ago, still full of that same self assured expression that spoke of her unwavering confidence borderlining on arrogance. That’s his stepsister, alright. The other members of her house regarded him with half hearted suspicion, aside from Hubert, who outright did not trust him. Linhardt took interest in him for his Crest, while Bernadetta ran away every time she even caught so much as a glimpse of him. 

It was all to be expected. Every one of these people have their own motives, reasons for the way they behave, whether or not it’s money, reputation or connections, and that much was easy to understand. Power, after all, drives all.

And yet, when the Alliance heir waltzed into his life with an easygoing smile and those deep green eyes full of untold secrets, for the first time Dimitri questioned if everything in his life was predetermined after all. 

* * *

_Don’t trust him_ , they cried. _That smile is full of nothing but treachery and betrayal. He will crush you without batting an eye._

 _He’s dangerous,_ they hissed. _He will suck you in. Chew you up and spit you out. Don’t be fooled._

 _He’s beautiful_ , they sighed. _But don’t let that distract you. Never forget. Avenge us._

Dimitri nodded numbly to all the voices screaming in his head. 

“Your Princeliness?” A voice swam near the edge of his hearing, cutting through the haze. It belonged to a pair of beautiful verdant eyes. “Dimitri?”

“Yes, Claude?”

His friend stared back at him. They’ve been out on one of their long rides together and his horse had stopped short, hoof clopping on the small beaten path. The school year will officially start tomorrow, and their two weeks of orientation were almost up.

Claude dismounted. “We’re almost there. Let’s walk for a bit, shall we?”

And as they approached the glittering lake bathed in early sunlight—Dimitri had been adamant on riding before sunrise, Claude kept sneaking glances at the prince. 

“Are you alright, my friend?” Dimitri asked, embarrassed. The other boy flushed, too, just the faintest hint of color on his darkened cheekbones. 

“Peachy,” he said with a smirk. “Come, the sun is going to rise soon.” 

At the shore of the lake near Garreg Mach, near dawn draped everything in an ethereal glow. The pleasant late spring weather sent even more pleasant thoughts, and they settled on a picnic blanket, sharing breakfast. Claude pulled out a block of cheese—definitely swiped from the monastery’s cellar—with a huge grin and Dimitri sputtered.

“Starting to know me a bit too well?” He asked, taking the offering. Claude laughed, a clear sound in the hazy mist, and something in Dimitri’s chest stuttered. 

He was beautiful like this. His tanned skin glowed like polished bronze, emerald eyes bright and shiny with mirth. They broke fast together, quietly with intertwined laughter, and Dimitri reflected on how quickly they had clicked. 

Being from Faerghus, it wasn’t like he knew a lot of Almyrans. Dimitri vaguely remembered certain merchants and travellers in the streets of Fhirdiad, those with sun kissed skin and gold on their bodies, who grumbled endlessly about the cold but loved exploring a new land. 

“Try this,” Claude said around a mouthful of food, holding out something dried to Dimitri. “It’s a date. My favorite from home, actually. I carried along as much as I could without being too revealing.” 

He hesitantly took a bite. It tasted of nothing, as expected, but the soft and chewy texture was nice against his tongue. Dimitri chewed thoughtfully, noticing the bright look in Claude’s eyes. Excited. Expectant. 

“It’s…nice,” he said, after a pause. “I—can’t really taste it, but um…The texture is nice.” 

The question echoed in those emerald eyes once more, but Dimitri was glad Claude didn’t push. The other boy only smiled, pushing himself up and walked over to unstrap a small rug from the horse. 

“Do you mind?” Claude asked, gesturing at the dawn breaking above their heads. Dimitri shook his head. “Go ahead.”

Claude contemplated for the slightest moment, before unfurling the mat on a spot near the shores. Slowly, he started to peel off layers of his clothes, and Dimitri flushed at the sight of tanned skin covered by a sheer undershirt and shorts, pointedly looking away. Claude paddled to the water, cleaning himself in preparation for prayer, whistling a tune Dimitri was not familiar with. Hands three times, mouth three times, face three times. In the nose, the neck, forehead and hair. Each arm three times, each foot three times. Lake water glistened in the sunlight on his skin, and he shook them off before making his way back to the mat. 

Situating himself northwest, towards a holy temple somewhere in the sandy depths of the Almyran desert, Claude said his prayers. Even though Dimitri knew his friend as someone who was not deeply religious, to the Almyrans it was the holy month, a month of spiritual connection and fasting, of prayer and reflection. Claude was raised to uphold his people’s culture and their practices. 

Words in Almyran spoken of another god reached Dimitri’s ears. The idea that there was another deity out there was nothing less than heresy in the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and in Fódlan as a whole. It was, as the Church would say, an insult to the Mother Sothis, and yet Dimitri couldn’t find it in himself to judge. After all, the Duscur people worshipped many gods, and he never had a problem with Dedue. 

Dimitri was so lost in thought he didn’t realize Claude was done until the other boy started rolling up the elaborate mat. It was a piece of art, really, decorated with intricate embroidery and golden thread scriptures woven in Almyran, and it’s clear that the owner of such a thing must be one, of Almyran descent, and two, very rich. 

Finding out about Claude’s heritage was halfway an accident. It was only a couple days after the Alliance heir had arrived, fresh faced with a charming smile, eyes so deep and almost always half lidded with intent. Dimitri had taken an interest in the boy, in that smirk on his face and in the way he so effortlessly blended in, but it had always been only that. Harmless interest. Until one day he had been out for a walk after yet another nightmare and caught Claude muttering quietly to himself in one of the ruined chapels, his nightfall prayers in those strange eastern words. Claude had startled and whipped around at the prospect of someone witnessing what he was doing, a wild and murderous flare in those verdant eyes, and before he knew it the other boy had unsheathed Dimitri’s own blade and pressed it to his throat. 

“You,” Claude had said, the scathing aggressive glare softened just the slightest bit as he recognized the prince, “What are you doing here?”

“I—A walk.” The feeling of sharp steel against the soft skin of his throat brought out something in Dimitri. He flushed. Claude was so close the heat of his body mingled with his own. “I was on a walk.” 

Claude laughed, a humorless, dark sound. “You were lucky I didn’t slit your throat. It’s not very nice to eavesdrop, Your Highness.” He pulled back and suddenly, a bit ashamedly, Dimitri kind of wanted that heat and the edge of his own blade on him again. 

He cleared his throat instead. “My apologies, Lord Riegan.”

A look. And then, Claude’s face etched with an easy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “There’s no need to be that formal, especially as fellow house leaders. Feel free to call me Claude.” 

“Ah. Claude.” 

Dimitri rolled the name in his tongue. Tasted it. It was sweet and smooth, like the chocolate he used to love so much as a child. He nodded, quickly, when Claude raised one single perfect eyebrow at him. “Please, call me Dimitri as well.”

Another smile, this time slightly more real. But as if remembering something important and unpleasant, the soft corner of those green eyes hardened, sharpened, and turned threatening. 

“So, _Dimitri_ ,” A chill went down the prince’s spine, and he straightened to attention despite himself. “Did you, perhaps, hear something you shouldn’t have?”

This boy really was going to kill him.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Dimitri said hurriedly, “I’m well aware of the discrimination you could face if people knew. Your secret is safe with me.” 

Claude’s eyes narrowed, distrust evident on his face. “Your retainer, Dedue. He’s from Duscur, right?”

Dimitri blinked. “Yes, but what does it have anything to do with this?”

A beat of silence passed, and he felt somewhat suffocated under Claude’s assessing gaze, as if the other boy was reading him like an open book. But in turn, he saw so much more than just distrust in those eyes too, something vulnerable and raw hidden beneath that charming facade. 

Eventually, Claude relented. “Nothing,” he said, running a hand through his messy brown hair and Dimitri’s eyes were glued to the motion, “Come on, Your Princeliness. It’s getting late. Seteth would have our heads if we’re out past curfew.”

And _wow,_ that smile. Dimitri watched in awe. It was warm and genuine, the first of its kind that he had had the honor to witness, and Claude really was beautiful. Wickedly handsome. Ridiculously attractive. He was starting to run out of words that weren’t too sappy to describe this boy. 

Claude pulled him back inside monastery grounds in hushed tones and giggling laughter. He told Dimitri about the daily prayers and how difficult it was to sneak away while the knights were crawling everywhere, and before he knew it Dimitri blurted out that he would cover for Claude if needed, stuttering through his entire proposition despite himself. The Golden Deer house leader had looked at him with raised eyebrows but laughed fondly and agreed. 

That night, back in his dorm room after the moon was high in the sky, Dimitri stared into nothing, kept awake by something else other than the vengeful ghosts in his head for once. 

_Come now, Dimitri,_ the voice of his father said, exasperated. _Don’t forget your mission._

Glenn sighed in agreement. _Is he even interested in boys?_

“I don’t know,” Dimitri admitted to his ceiling. “I don’t know. Who says _I’m_ interested in him?”

From the corner of the room, Glenn did not look amused. The resemblance to Felix’s unimpressed resting face was too uncanny. 

_Your Majesty, please,_ He exhaled, done with it, _Teach your son a thing or two._ And then promptly vanished before Dimitri could even say anything. 

He scowled. The Glenn he knew before was not quite so calloused. 

Lambert turned to his son. _You’ve never been attracted to anyone before,_ he pointed out. _Aside from that girl, Edelgard. But she turned out to be Patricia’s daughter, didn’t she?_

Dimitri turned his head to look at the ghost of his father. He hasn’t aged, still had a few days worth of stubble on his face that he had been meaning to shave off before the diplomatic visit with the people of Duscur. The armor he wore was meticulously crafted and polished til’ shining, suitable for a king, but the darkened patches of intricate steel and silver hinted at dried blood and the stench of burnt flesh, and Dimitri couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. 

“Yes,” he said, blinking away the flickering flames threatening to swallow him up at the edge of his vision. “I don’t know what to do.”

The look on his father’s face softened, turned fond. _The boy seems nice. Strong. Capable._

An incredulous laugh. “Father, I don’t even know him.” 

_Well, maybe it is worth a try, my son. But beware._

Outside his window, a shower of early summer rain drenched the monastery in earthy scents. Dimitri inhaled deeply, tossing and turning in his bed. The ghosts of his loved ones never leave, but they quieted down as if taking pity on him. 

Sleep did not come easy that night, as always, but when his eyes finally closed in hard earned peace, it’s all golden hues and glittering emeralds in his hazy dream. 

* * *

Dimitri woke to darkness. 

A dull ache settled in the base of his guts, a gnawing sense of hunger. He scowled and looked outside; by the look of it he had already missed dinner. The eyepatch had fallen out while he was asleep, and he hastily tied it again behind his ear when someone knocked on the door. 

“Dimitri?” 

Annette. When will they learn not to disturb him? 

“Your Highness? I brought you some food, since you missed dinner—The dining hall even made your favorite today…” 

“Leave it,” he grunted, dragging himself out of bed. “I’m not hungry.” 

“But—”

Dimitri roared. “I said _leave it!_ ” 

The sound of a yelp, dishes clattering to the ground and hurried, panicked footsteps running away from him slipped past his closed door until all was left was silence. 

Huffing breaths. Something burned in him that he couldn't swallow, and he swiped his table in a fit of unbearable hot white rage until everything had fallen to the ground. 

His diary fell open.

Dimitri eyed it with contempt. It was a reminder of gentler times, innocence oozing from the yellowed pages. He hated it. He despised how naive his younger self was, how hopeful, how sickeningly trusting. 

Gritting his teeth, the delusional prince picked up the notebook and chucked it into the fireplace without contemplation. 

Letters, the ones he had written to those missing and those dead, burned one by one. 

He did not look back. 

* * *

_Dear Claude,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. Although, I must admit, I have no intentions of actually delivering this. Dedue had suggested writing out everything I wanted to say, so I suppose that is exactly what I’m trying to do now._

_Life is strange, now. Garreg Mach was much better than I had thought, especially now that I have the chance to gain many valuable friendships in the academy. The other day, while I was in the training grounds, Ferdinand even approached me to ask for advice about my lance training routine! Ferdinand! Can you believe that?_

_You seemed different, lately. Like you don’t recognize me anymore. Ever since that fateful day when the professor saved our lives, you have looked at me as if I’m just a stranger. It hurts, somehow. I want to ask you about it, but I can’t help but feel dread at the prospect, as if I’m going to ruin something. Maybe if I’m patient, you will speak._

_Best wishes,_

_Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd_

***

_Dear Claude,_

_I hope you are well. Although, I can clearly see that you are not; you look distressed every time you see me next to the professor. Is everything alright? You are not speaking to me the way you used to, and the look in your eyes is nothing but guarded. Did I do something wrong?_

_Maybe those two weeks we spent together were merely the product of my imagination._

_It is difficult, but I cannot deny it. The way you glow in the summer sunlight, like you belong in it, makes me feel. It makes me feel something other than my barely contained rage, or my bitterness, or my fear._ You _make me feel._

_It’s overwhelming, really. I’m not sure how to properly handle this. Perhaps a visit to the counsellor’s advice box is in order._

_Best wishes,_

_Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd_

***

_Dear Claude,_

_It has been a while, hasn’t it?_

_Everything has changed. Professor Byleth now possesses the Sword of the Creator, a weapon of legend. The most powerful of relics. Incredible, isn’t it? She’s already a force to be reckoned with; and now she will be invincible. Truly remarkable. I’ve never been more proud that she chose the Blue Lions to instruct._

_But now we face a real threat. The Death Knight…that one encounter in the Holy Mausoleum almost baited out the boar in me. I had to grit my teeth to not slip, fighting against something that powerful._

_I’m glad you are safe and away from the fighting. I have a feeling that this would only get worse, and I would hate for you to see me like that, consumed in bloodlust. I have already lost Felix to that monster._

_Best wishes,_

_Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd_

***

_Claude,_

_I’ve finally found what I came to Garreg Mach for. It was him; he was behind all of this. The Flame Emperor. I’m sure of it._

_He took Captain Jeralt. He hurt the professor. He was the one behind the Tragedy of Duscur. And now, mark my word, he will pay. I will make sure of that. I will break his neck with my own bare hands, I will tear him limb from limb, and I will not kill him until he is begging for death._

_Mark my word._

***

_Claude,_

_I’m slipping. I can’t control it anymore. The white hot rage is too much to bear; I need to kill, kill kill—_

_Father and Glenn and every single miserable soul she had slaughtered compels me. It is my duty, it is the sole reason why the goddess had allowed me to survive the tragedy._

_Edelgard._

_I will not rest until I have her head._

_I only wish for you to not look upon me with scorn when I crush her skull._

***

_where are you where are you where are you_

***

_claude_

_please_

_come back to me_

_i’m sorry please be alive please be safe_

_the professor is gone too. some say she’s dead. i refuse to believe that someone that exceptional could perish so easily._

_edelgard had started a war. i must return to fhirdiad by dawn to prepare the kingdom forces. but i cannot abandon the search; surely you and the professor are stuck somewhere under all this rubble, i cannot leave you. i cannot leave her._

_i’m a failure. not only could i not avenge my loved ones, i lost you and the professor as well. sothis, why did you allow me to live?_

_i love you. i’m sorry. i wish i had said it sooner. now i’m talking to your ghost._

_let these letters remain here with you, and with her. and maybe, one day, you will come back to haunt me, too._

_yours, forever,_

_dimitri_

**Author's Note:**

> finally! i took some time playing through the blue lions route to get a grasp on dimitri's character, to be able to write him correctly and phew, never realized how long the game actually is.
> 
> i contemplated for so long on whether or not i should write this in, and in the end decided yeah hell why not. i have found a new appreciation for dimiclaude and i am forever grateful. 
> 
> the next one will probably take a while, so sorry about that haha, but it will definitely come out at some point :))


End file.
